Vignettes of Steele: Holt
by RSteele82
Summary: (The Vignette Series) An addition to the Canon Series. Follows Holt as he grows up. Short (1500 words or less each 'chapter'), sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, glimpses into the childhood of Laura and Remington's second born.
1. April 1991 - 3 months old

_**A/N: A holiday gift for my readers. Thank you for your ongoing support and encouragement.**_

 _ **Over the years I have been writing RS fanfiction, there have been many 'little moments' - poignant, serious, lighthearted or simply funny - that have traipsed through my mind. While these little scenes fit within the canon series, there has been no way to legitimately weave them into the current tale.**_

 _ **The Vignettes of Steele Series follow the Steele children as they grow. Thus, as we know now (November 2017), there are three different 'books' in this series:**_

 _ **Vignettes of Steele: Olivia**_  
 _ **Vignettes of Steele: Sophia**_  
 _ **Vignettes of Steele: Holt**_

 _ **Each chapter of these stories is 1500 words or less: Brief and hopefully enjoyable.**_

 _ **From 11/20 until 12/31/17 I will be adding a Vignette story every day or two. After that, as they strike me.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy!**_

 _ **And far more importantly - I hope this holiday season finds you each happy and well, and will provide you many happy memories for the years ahead.**_

 _ **RSteele82**_

* * *

 _May 1991 – 3 Months Old_

Holt Fitzgerald Steele's bright blue eyes blinked open, and peered up at the two faces looking down at him – one belonging to a raven haired blue eyed three year old, the other to a blonde haired green eyed four year old.

"He wakeded up!" Olivia exclaimed gleefully, from where she clung to the side of the crib, her toes tucked into the bottom rail for the crib, while her hands clutched at the top.

"Shhhhh!" Sophie warned, from where she hung of the side next to her partner in crime.

Holt cooed up at the girls and pumped his legs happily.

"Girls, I know you're not waking your brother up, right?" Laura called from downstairs, as she listened to the baby monitor sitting at her elbow.

Upstairs, two little heads snapped around to face one another, both pairs of eyes widening, their little mouths forming an 'o' as they gasped at having been caught.

"Bye, Holt," Sophie whispered, dropping down off the side of the crib, Olivia following her.

"Bye, Holt," Olivia called from the bedroom door.

Downstairs, Laura laughed aloud as she listened to two pairs of feet scurrying down the hall.


	2. June 1991 - 4 months old

_June 1991 – 4 Months Old_

In the misty morning dimness of a small bedroom in Oia, Holt rolled to his stomach in his crib and lifted his head, grasping at the sheets, finally fisting a small handful. He released a soft screech of happiness, feeling as accomplished as an infant can, having captured the fabric. He gave the sheet a tug, trying to bring it to his mouth, grunting with frustration when he was unable to move the desired object any closer. His grunts growing louder in conjunction with his determination, he tried to find purchase with his toes to push himself closer towards his treasure.

Across the room, a small figure stirred in her bed, the unfamiliar pre-dawn sounds rousing her. Pushing herself up to peer around the room, Sophie saw the baby moving about in his crib, his head flopping forward then rearing back again, as he quietly squawked his discontent. Shoving back her sheets, she climbed from the bed and walked across the room to peer through the slats.

"Whatsa matter, baby?" she whispered, drawing Holt's eyes to her for a scant moment before he returned his focus to his quest, struggling to keep his head up, the more tired he became from his exertion.

Staring at him pensively, Sophia finally reached through the slats to pat the baby, only to have him flail an unmeaning hand towards hers, inadvertently clutching her finger. Blinking, he tried to draw her finger towards his mouth. She'd seen him act similarly enough over the past few weeks, and Laura and Remington's response to it, that understanding dawned. Pulling her finger free from his grasp, she silently left the bedroom and padded to the living room, where she grabbed his pacifier off the coffee table.

Holt released an audible sigh, when Sophie reached through the slats again, this time to press the pacifier against his lips. Drawing the nipple fully into his mouth, his head dropped to the mattress and he closed his eyes.

"Night night, baby," she whispered, then tiptoed across the room and crawled back into her bed.

* * *

Laura sat up in bed and drew her hands through her hair at the sound of Holt's cries coming through the monitor. As she glanced at the clock on the bedside table, Remington stirred beside her.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'll get the baby this morning," she whispered next to his ear while her fingers tips traipsed through his tousled hair. At his hum of grateful agreement, she sat up and reached for her robe, drawing it on as she crossed the hallway to the bedroom across from theirs. She picked up the baby from his crib, her brows drawing together briefly, and she reached into the crib to pick up his pacifier while her eyes took in her still sleeping girls. As Holt suckled the pacifier, Laura cracked the bedroom door closed and walked to the kitchen where she prepared him a bottle, before returning to the bedroom to sit in the rocking chair tucked into a corner.

She looked up as Remington stirred, watched as his hand sought her, before rolling his side to prop himself up on an arm and peer at the empty sheets, before his eyes automatically shifted to the rocking chair. Finding her there, holding the baby, he flopped back down on the bed and rubbed his hands up and down his face, as he shook off the last remnants of sleep.

"The girls?" he asked.

"Still sleeping," she answered. He grunted in answer, then dropped his hands and offered more coherent input.

"I imagine so. They had quite the long day yesterday."

"Mmmmm, they did," she agreed. "Myself as well, it would seem… Even more so than I realized," she added, pensively. He raised his brows in interest.

"Oh? How so?" Her brows mimicked his own, although she looked at him ruefully.

"I found Holt's pacifier in the crib." She shrugged a shoulder, as she set the baby's bottle aside, then lifted him to her shoulder to burp him. "I could have sworn I put it on the coffee table before we went to bed. But…"

"Sounds like you could use a bit more horizontal time," he observed, lifting the sheet in invitation. Without hesitation, she stood with the baby, and crossed the room to slip back under the sheets.

"An invitation I can't possibly resist," she admitted, as she curled up on her side facing away from him, tucking the baby up against herself, then waited for him to wrap himself around her slim frame. Only when his long arm secured both she and the baby in his embrace, did she close her eyes, listening as Holt gurgled contentedly while playing with his father's fingers.


	3. July 1991 - 5 months old

_March 1991 – 5 weeks old_

"Lau-ra," Remington called from his office, drawing out her name unhappily as he looked at his watch for the third time, "If we don't leave _very shortly_ we'll be eating lunch from the food truck downstairs." An idea which held absolutely no appeal, especially when Pierra was holding them a table at L'Ornate.

"I'm just changing the baby and then we'll be on the way," she called from the nursery, stationed between their two offices. She rolled her eyes at her son. "Your father," she groused. Turning to throw the wet diaper in the trash can, she plucked a new one off the shelf below where the baby lay. "You'd think he was starving the way he goes on and— What, no. Oh my God, stop that. No, no, no!"

Food forgotten, Remington rushed into the nursery to see what was amiss…

He broke out into great guffaws of laughter when he spied Laura, one arm held away from her body, the other hand pinching her blouse between two fingers, pulling the wet fabric away from her skin. She glowered at him.

"I bet you won't be as amused when I point out Pierre will need to cancel our table," she growled. His laughter dried up and he looked positively crestfallen.

"Why in God's name would we need to do that?" he protested.

"I need to go home to change. I can't walk around all day like…" she swept a hand down her torso "…this." His eyes sparkled with amusement and he broke out in laughter again. Holding up a finger, he backed away towards his office. "I just need a moment," he excused himself, then disappeared from sight. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly then stepped back to the changing table.

"I hope this isn't an indication that you'll have the same lack of self-control as your father," she told her infant son in a sing-song voice, as she finished putting on the clean diaper. Moving him to his swing, she tore the sheet off the changing table and tossed it on the floor before reaching for the spray bottle of bleach water and the towel they kept on the bookshelf. A new sheet from a shelf of the changing table completed the chore. "Alright, sweet boy, while Mommy goes home to change, Auntie Mildred will—"

She stopped short when she turned towards the door and found Mildred, Bernice and Remington standing there. One look at her, and all three began laughing.

" _Mr. Steele,_ " she ground out, plopping her hands on her hips.

* * *

 _July 4, 1991 – 5 months old_

Holt's screams filled the living room. Face bright red, his fists flailed as his legs stiffened.

"Do you think it's colic?" Remington asked, worried, as he bounced his infant son in his arms while pacing the room. Olivia had experienced colic as an infant, and it had made for many a night of little to no sleep for all in the Steele household until they'd discovered Livvie found great comfort in lying against the warmth of her father's torso during the worst of nights.

"I don't know," Laura responded, wringing her hands. "Maybe we should cancel—"

The doorbell peeled at the front of the house

"Bit late for that," he commented with a look in the direction of where the bell had sounded. From the other side of the house, a pair of feet could be heard racing towards the front door. With a frustrated sigh, Laura strode out of the family room.

"They're here, Mommy. They're here!" Livvie yelled excitedly, after she'd pulled open the front door. Frances, Donald and Laurie Beth stepped inside.

"Olivia Elena, I don't want to remind you again that only an adult is to answer the door," Laura told her, once she'd greeted her sister and brother-in-law with quick hugs. Livvie frowned and tilted her head to the side.

"But they isn't strangers." Laura lifted her eyes heavenward before looking down at her daughter.

"'They aren't strangers,'" she corrected automatically. "And you didn't know that until you answered the door. If you do it again, you'll spend some time in your room alone thinking about why Mommy and Daddy make the rules and you are to follow them. Understood?" Livvie stuck out her lip in a pout, but nodded her head.

"Yes."

Laura turned at the tug on the hem of her shirt and found Sophie looking up at her hopefully.

"Can we go swimming now, Mommy?" Sophie asked, looking up at her mother with hopeful eyes.

"In a little bit, Sophie Bird," Laura answered, stroking hand over her daughter's head. "Da and I need a little longer to help the baby feel better, then one of us can watch you."

"Holt's not feeling well?" Frances asked, her face drawing with concern.

"No, he's not," Laura said, her own concern elongating her words. Frances hustled into the living room where Remington still paced with the baby.

"I can watch the girls, Laura," Donald volunteered. Three eager faces swung to look at Laura, who gave him a grateful look.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose." Donald smiled wide and laughed jovially.

"Impose? We're talking about three of my favorite girls," he assured. "Go see to the baby. Come on girls, the water and sun await."

* * *

"Would you mind changing Holt while I get the girls out of the pool?" Laura asked Remington, who'd just set the last platter of food on the table. "The diaper, wipes and changing pad are on the chaise." He easily transferred Holt from Laura's arms to his own.

"Has he…" She shook her head somberly.

Had each adult at the table not been willing to take turns bouncing and rocking the baby, patting his stomach, it would have put a serious hitch into hosting the Fourth of July gathering. As it was, the Piper's, Hawke's, Henderson's, Melina, Mildred and Rusty, all willingly took turns trying to keep the baby comfortable, while Remington cooked and Laura saw to refreshing drinks and preparing the table for the meal.

"No. He's just wet." He nodded his head and hummed his disappointment, before they parted company.

It wasn't that he _enjoyed_ changing soiled diapers. In fact, he had a decided preference for the merely wet ones. But, if Frances was correct and the source of Holt's discomfort was constipation… Well, he'd eagerly change a soiled one at the moment.

Lying Holt on the already positioned changing pad, Remington dropped to one knee at the end of the chair.

"Ah, mo mhac," he spoke to his infant son, as he removed the wet diaper and set it aside, "Should Aunt Frances be correct, all will be well soon." Lifting the baby's legs back, he reached for a wipe to clean him.

A flatulent sound rent the air, followed by a heartfelt…

"Bloody hell!"

…which drew every eye on the terrace in Remington's direction. This time, it was the laughter of a dozen people filling the air.

With a groan, he looked down at his shirt and tank which were now spattered. He turned his head to scowl at Laura when her musical laughter sounded from behind him.

"Kismet, Mr. Steele, kismet," she choked out.


	4. August 1991 - 6 months old

_July 1991 – 5 months old_

"Alright, sweet boy," Laura said, softly, as she settled into the rocking chair in the nursery with Holt. "You and I are going to work on a little surprise for Da's birthday," she announced, her face animated to capture his attention.

"A-ga-a-ba-ba-ba-a," Holt babbled in answer, a chubby little hand reaching for her face. A smile lit her face, as her love for her little son washed over her, her smile growing all the wider when his little fist grasped her finger when she reached for his hand.

"Birthday's are sometimes difficult for your Da," she reflected, fingering the baby's hand. "One day he may share the story of his childhood with you…" she paused, considered her words, then with a lift of her brow admitted, "Then again, maybe he won't. But, suffice it to say, his childhood wasn't remotely similar to the life you and your sisters have, surrounded by love, your every need met." She laughed quietly. "And, if it were up to him, you'd be buried in all the things he'd ever wished for."

"A-ba-ga-ga-ba-a."

"So, you and I are going to give him something he may not have _wished_ for, but I _promise_ you, will mean the world to him." She lifted her brows at him again. "Da. Can you say Da?"

"A-ba-ba-ga-da-ba-a-ba," he performed for his captive audience.

"Da," she repeated.

"A-ba-ba-ba-ba!"

"Da…"

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

That evening Laura tucked the girls into bed alone, as Remington was downstairs in his gaming room, where he was acting as host for the bi-weekly poker game. The girls had chosen to sleep in Sophie's room that night given Laura's promise they could listen to Rose Marie's _Bedtime Stories_ as they fell to sleep.

"Girls, how would you like to help me with a _very secret_ surprise for Da's birthday?" Laura asked. Sophie nodded eagerly where she lay, while Olivia popped up into a sitting position, clapping her hands.

"I _like_ surprises," she answered, her eyes alight with glee.

"I know you do, baby," Laura answered, fondly stroking her daughter's head. "Now, here's what we're gonna do…"

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

Olivia lay on her tummy on the playroom floor, feet swinging in the air. On the blanket in front of her, Holt was on his hands and knees rocking back-and-forth, babbling.

"Ba-ba-ba-ma-ma-ma."

"Say Da, baby. Da," she encouraged.

"Ma-ma-ma-ba-ba-ba."

"Say Da, Holt. Da," she tried again.

"Ah-ba-ba-ba-ma," Holt babbled, gleefully.

"Noooooo," Olivia drew out the word, much like was her mother's habit. "Da. Da-da-da-da-da."

"Mm-ma-ma-ga-ba-ba!"

"Da. Da-Da," she insisted.

"Mm-ma-ma-ma-ma!"

Olivia puffed out a breath, and plopped her chin into her palm, resignedly.

"No, Holt. Da. Da-da-da…."

ABCABABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

Sophie spied Remington and Laura talking quietly in the kitchen as they washed, dried and put away the dishes from lunch. Quietly, she raced upstairs and peeked into the nursery where Holt sat in his crib, playing with a teething toy. Tiptoeing across the room, she turned off the baby monitor, then returned to his crib, pressing her faced against the slats. Overjoyed someone realized he was up from nap, Holt chortled happily and lifted his arms.

"Say Da, baby. Da," Sophie enunciated.

Holt squealed and clapped his hands together.

"Da. Say Da, Holt," she tried again.

"Mm-ma-ma-mm-ma!" he replied in answer.

"Da. Da-da-da-da," she tried again, patiently…

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

Laura sat in the rocking chair in the nursery. The girls were down for the evening and Remington had left to meet Monroe after the alarm at one of their electronic stores had been tripped. Setting his empty bottle aside, she kept him cradled in her arms.

"What do you say we work a little more on our special word, hmmmmm?" she suggested, running the tip of a finger over his chubby little cheek as his alert blue eyes stayed fastened upon her. "Da. Will you say _Da_ for me, sweet boy?"

"Ma-ma-ma-ma," he answered, a chubby little hand grabbing her braid and giving it a tug, while his feet pumped happily. Her heart filled with warmth, as it did each time he babbled those particular syllables at her.

"Mommy loves you too, sweet boy," she answered softly, as she bent her head down to buss his forehead. "So, so much. But this is _very important._ So let's try again. What do you say? Da. Da-Da. Da."

"Mm-ma-ma-ma…"

ABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABCABC

 _August 25, 1991 – 6 months old_

Olivia barreled into Laura and Remington's bedroom with Sophie close on her heels. Scrambling up onto her parents' bed, where her mother and father slept nestled together, Livvie reached out and carefully opened his eye. The lid of his eye snapped shut when he frowned. Rolling away from Laura to his back, he pried open a pair of grainy blue eyes and looked up at his youngest daughter.

"Can we run errands now, Da?" Livvie inquired eagerly. Pressing up on his elbow wearily, he looked at the alarm clock then flopped back down.

"It's six o'clock, a stór. The market doesn't open for hours yet," he answered, sleepily. Not for the first time across the last three years, he longed for the days when rising early on a weekend meant before noon, although, at the same time, he wouldn't give up Saturday mornings with his girls for anything in the world. Rubbing at his face, he sat up. "Let's get you girls dressed, then we'll make some breakfast, hmmmm?"

"What's going on?" Laura mumbled as she turned to her back.

"It's Saturday morning, love," he answered, as though that it explained it all. "Go back to sleep." Leaning down he touched a kiss to her lips, then rose to his feet just in time for Holt's babbling to come over the monitor. He pulled on his robe and tied his sash. "Let's see to your brother, Little Ladies Steele." As expected the name evoked giggles from the girls as they followed him into the nursery. "Good morning, mo mhac," he greeted, as he leaned down over the rail of the crib and swept his son up in his arms. "Decided to join in on the fray, have you?" he asked, as he lay the baby down on the changing table.

"Da-Da!" Holt babbled. Remington's hand fluttered up to his lips. For some reason he'd come to believe hearing those 'words' from Holt would be… anticlimactic… given the two children who'd preceded him in saying it. He'd been thoroughly, completely wrong.

"Mommy, Mommy, Holt saided it," Livvie yelled towards the bedroom, clapping her hands and bouncing with glee.

In the bedroom, eyes still closed, Laura's lips lifted in a smile.


	5. December 25, 1991 - 10 months ol

_December 25, 1991 – 10 months old_

Holt eyed the present his father had dropped between his legs. The bright colors capturing his interest for less than a minute before he turned his head and a pair of bright blue eyes stared up at Laura and Remington. His eyes shifted from his parents, whose attentions were otherwise occupied with one another, to the table he'd twice been whisked away from. His chubby little legs began to kick when he saw the bows on the table. They were brightly colored, too, but unlike the box in front of him, those bows were the perfect size for a tiny fist and even smaller mouth.

Inadvertently, a small foot connected with the box. The box tumbled away far enough for him drop forward on his hands then get his legs beneath him.

 _Chug-chug-chug-chug-chug._ He crawled quickly to the table and grasping its edge, concentrated on pulling himself up.

"Speaking of children like you… Your son's about to abscond with someone else's treasures."

Hearing his Mommy's voice behind him, Holt turned his head towards her. He froze when he saw a pair of eyes as blue as his own focus on him. Instinctively he move a foot, trying to put distance between himself and his father, before he found the object of his desire far out of reach.

"Oh, no you don't, mo mhac," Remington laughed as he pressed up on his knees, recognizing the baby's attempts to scoot out of reach for what they were.

In trying to hasten to take a step sideways, a skill still not mastered, Holt lost his balance and plopped down on his diapered bottom. Before he could blink, a pair of large hands grasped him around the waist, and he was flying through the air… to find himself right back where he'd started from: sitting near his parents, the present set between his legs again.

"Perhaps a bit of help?" Remington suggested as his son first blinked up at him, then followed the motion of his father's hand to that box. Remington tore up a strip of paper, Holt would easily be able to grasp in his tiny hand and watched as he grasped it, before turning his attention to Laura.

"Catherine, it's a beautiful sweater. Thank you." She fingered the downy softness of the red, v-neck cashmere sweater. It was something she'd never splurge on for herself, and she was truly touched by the thoughtfulness.

"As soon as I saw it, I knew it had to be yours," Catherine explained. "Red is such a lovely color on you. I only wish I had your complexion."

"And I wished for most of my teenage years to wake one morning with a complexion like your own," Laura returned the compliment, sincerely.

"And deprive me of the freckles I adore?" Remington spoke low next to her ear, in a sensual hum. She laughed silently, and reached over her shoulder to stroke a cheek fondly.

"I didn't know there would be a _you._ " He blinked when she lunged around him, then watched as she fingered a soggy piece of paper out of the baby's mouth.

Holt kicked his feet unhappily at his mother, then stilled to watch as she took the partially wrapped box, removed the remainder of the wrapping paper and pulled out the rubber blocks, setting them on the floor in front of him. Babbling his happiness, he clutched the corner of a block and brought it back up to his mouth. Stroking his cheek with a hand, much as she just had his father, she smiled at him before her attention was drawn away again.

"Let's see what the children got you, hmmmm?"Remington encouraged. He and the girls had gone out Christmas shopping for Laura the weekend after Thanksgiving. After searching for hours, they'd finally come upon a heart shaped necklace with 'Mother' in script across its face, and several different colored stones on the outside edge of the pendant. It wasn't quite to Laura's taste, so he'd taken the girls to his jewelers where he'd designed a custom necklace that finally met with the girls' approval. He'd only picked up the finished product the week before, and was anxious to see her reaction.

Holt pushed, shoved, turned the block, dropped it, then picked up a new block to try all over again. Try as he might, he was unable to get that block all the way in his mouth. When he dropped the second block, he looked around the room, spotting Sophie who neatly arranging paper in one pile, bows in a second, toys in a third and clothes in the final. He watched as she stood and took the bows she'd collected and offered them to Olivia…

And he was off.

 _Chug-chug-chug-chug-chug._

His eyes lit up when the wrapping paper beneath his hands and knees made crinkling sounds. Grasping the piece beneath his hand he pulled, giggling at the new sound it made when it tore. Fisting the chunk of paper, he shoved it towards his mouth.

"No, no, Holt," Sophie cried out, drawing her parents' attention as she knelt down before her infant brother. Gently, she removed the paper from his hand, then watched as their mother picked him up.

"You're a busy boy this morning," Laura laughed down at him. Returning to the blanket, she sat Holt in her lap then reached for one of his presents to open it. She huffed, indignantly when Remington snatched it from her hand and unceremoniously tore the paper down the center. He gave her a wicked grin while his eyes sparkled with laughter.

"Can't have you taking all morning, love," he teased. "Brunch preparations await." And, for expediency's sake, he picked up another package to open himself.

Soon a small collection of toys were gathered around the baby. Toys where happy animals popped up when a lever was pulled or a dial turned. There were chunky trucks, colorful rings, and yellow shapes that went into a red and blue ball. But the toy that captured his interest the longest was the one in which the balls spun around-and-around-and-around when the plunger was pressed. All the pretty colors spinning and whirling, blending together then separating.

Those colors stirred a memory and his eye skimmed the room. Knocking aside the toy, he was off.

 _Chug-chug-chug-chug-chug._

Victory was at last his when he stood at the table and snatched a brightly colored bow up in his hand. Thrilled by his accomplishment, his delighted laughter drew the eyes of all in the room.

And, the next thing he knew, that bow was pried from his clenched fist and he was being carried away as he watched the colors move further and further from him. His face crinkled and he prepare to let one and all know his displeasure, when he suddenly found himself in the familiar confines of his high chair.

"The boys are on kitchen duty, mo mhac," Remington explained, as though Holt understood each word. Reaching into the cabinet he took out the container of Cheerios and deposited a handful of the oat cereal on the tray of the highchair. "You supervise as your Granddad and I do the work, eh?"

Remington had lost Holt's attention at the sight of the first Cheerio. He ate. He smacked at the high chair tray to make the cereal bounce. He swiped his hand from side-to-side, spewing the cereal everywhere. And, when that tray was empty, he babbled gratefully at whoever refilled it so he could begin all over again. But soon, that game, too, bored him and he began to fuss. Extracting his son from the high chair, Remington delivered Holt to Catherine where she sat on the couch with outstretched arms.

Holt liked his Grans. She had a soft voice, a gentle touch and she loved to snuggle him close while they talked. But, after several minutes, his eyes began to wander the room, stilling on the twinkling lights of the tree. An appropriate amount of squirming saw Catherine kissing him atop his head and setting him on the floor.

 _Chug-chug-chug-chug-chug._

Just as he reached for the bright red light, he found himself across the room again.

 _Chug-chug-chug-chug-chug._

At the table, he struggled to pull himself and…

He found himself back across the room, this time with a xylophone sat before him. The stick made an excellent teething ring, at least for a little while…

Until his eyes fell on the lights of the tree.

 _Chug-chug-chug-chug-chug._

When he found himself thwarted yet again, his frustrated howl filled the room.

"Soph, can you go ask Da for Holt's bottle?" Laura asked. She watched as Sophie darted for the kitchen while she swayed with her tired son, who cried as his head rested heavily on her shoulder. "It's been a long, busy morning for you, hasn't it, little man?" she crooned to him. Sophia was back in just over a minute, holding out the warm bottle of formula to her mother. "Girls, I want you to take all your gifts up to your rooms. We'll figure out after brunch where we're going to put everything. Once I have Holt down, I'll be in to help you get dressed."

"Okay, Mommy," Olivia easily agreed. Sophie echoed the words.

In the nursery, Laura changed her still fussy son's diaper, then sat in the rocking chair with him. By his second pull on the nipple of the bottle, he'd calmed. Lulled by the sound of his mother's voice, the warm milk and the to-and-fro movement of the rocking chair, his arm fell limply down by his side before he'd finished half the bottle.

It was exhausting work being a baby on Christmas morning.

* * *

 _ **Concluding in Vignettes of Steele: Sophia**_


	6. January 6, 1992 - 10 months old

January 6, 1992 – 10 months old

Remington sat in the nursery _attempting_ to give his infant son his bedtime bottle with little success. Holt had recently become obsessed with all things shiny – especially those things he might put into his mouth. Even of more infinite appeal, those shiny objects he might swipe from his sisters when their eyes were turned, after which he could be seen crawling away as fast as his chubby little arms and legs could carry him.

In turn, that had meant all things shiny were currently on the Steele's most wanted list. Change was not left out for the girls to find, as inevitably they'd find Holt chewing on a quarter, dime or nickel and when anyone dared to try to remove it from said mouth, the baby would clamp his jaws together with all his might. And when that object was freed? Both Laura and Remington would swear his howls of outrage could be heard by his Aunt Frances and Uncle Donald all the way out in Tarzana.

Shiny barrettes were put up high out of reach. Necklaces were tucked underneath shirts before Holt was held. Fragile bracelets weren't worn. Tiaras found a new home in the girls' rooms. Dress up jewelry and tiny Barbie accessories were put in a closed box when Holt crawled about the playroom. Even the crystal vases and decorative bowls that shot prisms of light into the room when the sunlight hit them were put high out of reach, lest Holt yank one down from a table and shatter it.

They had believed they'd taken into every contingency… but they hadn't.

Just two nights past on Saturday evening, Laura and he had been preparing for a night out with Thomas, Catherine and Rusty and Mildred, who'd just returned from their honeymoon, while Mirabella took charge of the children. Laura had opted to wear a simple pair of diamond studs Remington had gifted her with on the ninth anniversary of their meeting the October prior. Holt sat on Laura's lap as she sat at the vanity in the bathroom, finishing up the final touches: makeup, earrings, necklace. Sophie and Livvie had been busy peppering Laura with questions, and in the quest for at least a touch of peace, she offered each of them the smallest dab of her perfume on each of their wrists.

When she'd turned around, she'd known a moment of frustration as one of the diamond studs was missing. She turned her eye to the most likely culprit: her first born who'd had a penchant for sparkly items from the time she was younger than her brother.

"Livvie Bee, did you take Mommy's earring?" Olivia looked at her mother wide-eyed and shook her head slowly.

"No, Mommy." Laura turned to her oldest daughter.

"Soph?"

"No, Mommy."

"Alright. Well, help me look for it. It must have fallen on the floor."

Just as Laura pushed back her chair and began to sit Holt on the floor, out of the corner of her eye she saw Holt's little jaws at work.

"Holt, let Mommy have what's in your mouth."

Those jaws latched shut tight.

"C'mon, baby, can Mommy see what you have? Hmmmm?"

As she tried to pry a finger between his jaws, she watched his throat move then he opened his mouth and chortled with glee. Her heart sunk to her toes and she fought for calm

"Girls, go downstairs and see if Granddad and Grans are here yet, then ask Da to come see me."

Dinner plans had been cancelled and mother, father and infant son had spent hours in the ER. When the X-rays showed the earring working its way through the digestive system and no sign of perforation, the doctor advised the earring would more than likely pass then provided a litany of instructions on concerning signs to look out for, and directions to check all bowel movements for the missing earring.

Twenty-two truly foul hours later the earring had made a reappearance…

Twenty-two hours of Laura muttering under her breath.

"Like father, like son… and sister."

"Can't resist shiny objects, just like someone else we know."

"Sticky fingers. Let's just hope he doesn't follow his father's chosen career path."

Remington had borne all the comments well, but when Laura had pointed to Holt's first soiled diaper and had snarked…

"Recovery's _your_ specialty, not _mine_ "

...He'd been horrified.

Then had done a great deal of muttering of his own as he'd excavated not one, not two, but _three_ diapers before he'd struck gold… and diamonds, as the case might be.

And Laura had vowed she'd not wear earrings again until Holt didn't view them, and all sparkly things, as snacks.

Now, as he attempted to feed his son his final meal of the night, Holt was far too distracted grabbing at Remington's ID bracelet to be bothered with such trivialities of a bottle. When he finally managed to grasp it, he laughed with satisfation, that happy sound soon followed by a bellow of unhappiness when said bracelet would not be permitted to reach his mouth. Moving Holt to his right arm where the bracelet would be out of sight and out of mind, he eased the nipple of the bottle between the babe's lips and his son began to feed.

"I can understand your fascination with the bracelet, mo mhac," Remington murmured. "But it's worth is far more than its shine or even its weight in gold."

Holt gurgled around his bottle in response as his father smiled down at him.

"For most of my adult life, I wore that bracelet with not a thing written upon it," he told his son, the deep timber of his voice lulling his son as much as the warm bottle and the steady rocking of the chair. "A reminder, you see, that I had no idea where I had come from or even who I was." His eyes took on a faraway look as he stared blankly at the nursery room wall. "Then, the year your Mommy was pregnant with Livvie, she absconded with my bracelet only to return it to me on Father's Day. Next to my wedding band, it is by far the most valuable possession I have ever owned – a constant reminder that I now know who I am, where I came from, and most importantly of all, who I always wish to be."

He blinked several times and came back from wherever it was his mind had traveled then stared down and regarded his son. With a soft hand, he fingered Holt's chubby little cheek.

"You'd be wise to learn from your Mommy, mo mhac," he advised. "She's always known it doesn't matter how shiny something is or how pretty it is on the surface… it's the substance that matters. She taught me that, and in time, we'll teach you as well."

Removing the bottle from his son's mouth, he pressed a kiss to the sleeping baby's head and laid him in the crib. Turning on monitor and nightlight, he quietly shut the door behind him.

As he turned to face the interior of the master bedroom, he found Laura standing only a few feet away, a wide, dimpled smile on her face. He shoved his hands in his pockets and returned her smile with his own.

"Listening in, were you?"

She crossed the room and encircled his neck with her arms. Tilting her head back to look him in the eye her fingers toyed with the ends of his hair.

"'By George, I think he's got it,'" she praised in the language he appreciated second most.

" _My Fair Lady,_ Audrey Hepburn, Rex Harrison, Stanley Holloway, Warner Brothers, 1964." He crept in closer, his hips grazing against her as he wrapped his arms around her. "You know what it does to me when you quote movies like that," he flirted. She wiggled her brows at him.

"I do, because I know your substance." A hand lifted her hair over her shoulder then cupped the side of her face.

"That you do, Mrs. Steele. That you do."

Then he kissed her….


	7. April 1992 - 13 months old

_April 18, 1992 – 13 months old_

Remington looked around the park with horror in his eyes.

"There must be a thousand children here, Laura," he announced woefully, as the couple unloaded their own three children from the SUV. Her eyes scanned the crowd.

"A few hundred, maybe, but by no means a thousand, Mr. Steele," she corrected with a laugh.

"Remind me again why we're here?" he groused.

"Because Easter Egg hunts make children happy, and we _like_ for our children to be happy," she replied patiently, much as she had thirty minutes ago, an hour ago, three hours ago… last night.

"If it makes them so bloody happy…" he held up a hand in apology when she scowled at him over his choice of words "…how is it we've managed to avoid this… this…" he flipped a hand towards the park "…uncontrolled… frivolity... all these years?"

"Come to Da, mo mhac," he crooned to his son, as he picked the toddler up out of the car seat.

"Girls, unless your Da or I tell you otherwise, you are to be holding one of our hands at all times, understood?" Laura instructed Olivia and Sophia. "There are a lot of people here and we don't want you getting lost." Two pairs of somber eyes – one green and one bright blue – peered up at her as the preschoolers shook their heads.

"Yes, Mommy," they agreed in chorus.

"The girls were unaware of the 'uncontrolled frivolity' until Mary Kate told them about it at her birthday party last weekend," she reminded her husband, as though there had never been a break in the conversation.

"Well remind me next year not to be quite so generous where our present to—"

"Mr. Steele," she drew out his name in warning. He flicked a hand in her direction.

"Fine, fine." The quintet walked through the entrance to the park in silence.

"There's Mary Kate!" Olivia screeched happily.

"And Addison!" Sophie added. "Can we go play with Mary Kate and Addison, Mommy? Please, please?" Sophie danced on her tiptoes and Olivia joined in.

"Please!" Laura glanced at her watch then at Remington.

"Five minutes until the egg hunt starts. One of us will have to take the girls, the other Holt. Choose now, or forever hold your peace."

Remington quickly weighed the pros-and-cons of both options. With the newly walking Holt, it could take half an afternoon to collect enough eggs to meet Laura's standard of a d _e_ cent effort. On the other hand, he could always _carry_ Holt, pick up a half dozen or so eggs himself, plop them in the basket, then be done with it. Laura would never know. But should Laura find out? He mentally shuddered at the thought. Still, the idea was appealing until he looked towards the area where the two-and-under crowd would hunt, and found several women eyeing him as though having identified their next snack… despite, mind you, he was standing right next to his wife and children at that very moment. _Yeesh._

He turned and looked at the second section of the park, reserved for children three-to-five. That section was packed, by far the most populated of any age group. The idea of keeping the girls in his sight line while working his way through _that_ mass of screeching, screaming and squabbling children made his head throb. Ah, but there he had an ace-in-the-hole in the form of his firstborn: Olivia, the child that had never once opened all her presents. When she was done, she was done, and nothing would budge her. And standing next to her? His ever agreeable, very compliant Sophie Bird. Three minutes, tops, and they'd be out of there. He looked more closely at the field of participants, or rather the mother of those participants. A few hostile looks sent his way when he was caught looking, but generally just bone weary parents who would rather be anywhere but there, much like himself. Nothing to fend off there.

"I'll take the girls," he announced.

"Alright," she drew out the word with suspicion as she reached for Holt and took his basket from Remington's hand. "Meet us over there when you're done."

* * *

Laura walked at a sedate pace next to Holt, holding his chubby little hand in hers.

"Ba! Ba!" Holt called, pulling on Laura's hand.

"Very good, Holt!" she praised, stooping down as the baby bent over and picked up an egg. "But it's not a ball, it's an egg. Can you say egg?" Holt slipped his hand out of hers and toddled forward excitedly.

"Ba!"

Standing, basket in hand, she crossed her arms and followed behind him, a smile on her face. Shiny objects and pretty colors. Both of the children she'd given birth to shared the inability to resist either, just like their father.

No sooner had she relieved her son of his treasure than he toddled-stumbled to the next. He'd just grasped the plastic prize in hand when his precarious balance gave way, and he tumbled over, bottom's up. Two quick steps, brought Laura to her son's side, and she knelt down and swooped him up, setting him back on his feet. His full lower lip quivered and a sheen of tears threatened to dampen his thick, dark lashes.

"Any damages?" she inquired, keeping her voice purposefully light, as she inspected face, hands, elbows and knees finding them injury free. "Good to go! The only thing injured is your pride," she kissed him on the cheek, "And contrary to what your father believes, a little ding to your pride is not the end of the world."

She tipped her head to the side when Holt plopped down on his padded bottom. No longer worried about his fall, his eyes were fastened on the shiny, colored, foil covered objects that had fallen out of the egg which had cracked when he fell. Reaching for one, he immediately tried to stuff it in his mouth.

"No, no, not with the paper on." Plucking the candy out of his mouth, she quickly unwrapped it as her own mouth watered. "This is a Hershey Kiss and it tastes _much better_ without the foil." She eyed the candy and determined it was a choking hazard. Biting the candy in half, she slipped the smaller portion into his mouth. "Try it."

Fifty-minutes later, Remington arrived – face sweat-sheened and shirt dampened with perspiration, looking as though he'd just finished a triathlon – with two skipping, bright eyed little girls. He peered down into Holt's basket.

"Only five? Threw in the flag, did you?" he needled, turning a pointed eye to the girls whose baskets were both overflowing with eggs.

"When he's done, he's done." She held up a hand and dropped it as though to say 'what can you do?'

"Da!" Olivia tugged anxiously on his sleeve. "We has to open the eggs!" she informed him, insistently.

"You know the rule, Livvie Bee: No candy until we take it home and inspect it," he reminded her.

"Actually, that rule applies to trick-or-treating," Laura corrected, "Not Easter egg hunts. It's… different." He gave her a look suggesting she'd lost her mind.

"I don't see how as both involve candy from strangers," he rebuked.

"It just… is," she shrugged.

"And we need to see if we got golden tickets!" Sophie interjected into the conversation. Remington's eyes shifted to his strawberry-blonde daughter.

"Golden ticket?" he inquired.

"if you have one you winned prizes!" Livvie explained, while Sophie nodded her head in enthusiastic agreement.

"Then let's sit down and start opening," Laura suggested. "Dump your eggs on the ground then put the candy in your basket and the empty eggs in Holt's basket," she instructed. Tucking her legs to the side, she leaned back on arms braced against the ground and watched the girls, listened to them chatter, a contented smile on her lips.

"Don't you think we ought to open Holt's eggs before they're buried?" Remington inquired, reaching toward the basket. Lunging upright, she grabbed at his arm and quickly tangled her fingers with his.

"I'm sure they don't do golden tickets for the babies," she insisted. "Let's just—"

"Yes they do, Mommy," Livvie contradicted as she broke open an egg.

"Uh-huh," Sophie confirmed. "The lady said _everyone_ has a chance of finding the gold tickets."

"Well, there you have it." Dropping Laura's hand, Remington reached into Holt's basket and fished out the five still intact eggs. "Would you like to help?" She didn't even have the opportunity to answer before he cracked open the first egg. "What in the…" he eyed the girls, and refrained from completing the thought. "Confetti?"

With a pained look she turned her head away from him. Quirking a single brow, he opened a second, then a third with the same results.

"Holt! No, no, that's my candy!" Olivia scolded her little brother when he grabbed a fistful of colorful candies from her basket.

"Kith!" he cried out happily.

"Kith, indeed, mo mhac," Remington hummed, taking in the brown stains all over his small son's shirt then his wife who still refused to face him. He opened the final two eggs to find the same as the first three. "Uh, Laura…" With a final scrunch of her nose, Laura blanked her faced and turned to look at him with wide-eyed innocence.

"Yes?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but when we left the house this morning, wasn't our son's shirt a solid color and not… polka dotted?" She couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corner of her lips.

"Holt had a couple of chocolate kisses earlier," she answered, breezily.

"Ah, I see," he leaned closer to her. " _Holt_ had a couple…" He pursed his lips and waggled his head, playing along. "The evidence would suggest he enjoys chocolate as much as his mother."

"Oh, he was definitely a fan," she confirmed, straight-faced. Her façade threatened to crack, when he leaned over and snatched an egg from Livvie's pile. Cracking it open, he dumped three kisses into his hand. He held them up for Laura to see.

"You're quite sure it was only 'a couple?"

"Well," she drew out the word, "Maybe a _little_ more."

"Ah, I see," he repeated, scooting closer to her on the grass, eyes gleaming with amusement. "A thought occurs to me, Mrs. Steele…"

"Oh, and what's that?" She lifted her brows at him, suppressing the threatening laughter.

"That particular, well-sated look on your face only occurs under three circumstances." He edged slightly closer.

"Oh?"

"When we've solved a particularly daunting case," he ticked off. "After a we've shared a mind-blowing—"

"Mr. Steele," she drew out his name in warning again.

"…Metaphysical experience," he finished without missing a beat, in the instant before his lips covered hers. His tongue darted into her mouth for a quick sample. Helplessly, she laughed against his lips. When their lips parted he smacked his lips together a pair of times. "And when you've indulged in a good deal of chocolate."

"I did it for Holt," she defended. At mention of his name, Holt wobble-walked in his mother's direction.

"Of course you did," he agreed quickly… and disbelievingly... a wide, knowing smile on his face.

"Kith!" Holt declared insistently holding out a foil-wrapped candy to his mother.

"I did!" she protested, taking the Kiss out of Holt's hand and peeling off the wrapper. "It's a choking hazard." She held up the candy for his inspection. "Unless…" She bit off a large chunk, and eased a sliver into her son's waiting mouth "…I do this."

"Purely for safety reasons," he commented, keeping her farce alive.

"Purely for safety," she agreed, flashing a dimple at him.

"I got one! I got a golden ticket!" Sophie exclaimed happily, drawing the attention of both parents in her direction.

"Kith!" Holt demanded, again, as a line of chocolate tinted drool dripped off his chin and onto his shirt.

Remington and Laura exchanged smiles, and settled in to watch the girls finish opening their eggs.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Find the conclusion of Easter 1992 in Vignettes of Steele: Olivia - April 1992**_


End file.
